A Better Rest
by Syl
Summary: Nightwing and Batman investigate the death of a mutual friend.


Summary: Nightwing and Batman investigate the murder of a mutual friend.

Author's Note: Scott was first introduced in 'Changes' back in 1999. Several readers urged me to do a follow-up story with the character but I never followed through. Sadly, this story deals with Scott's untimely passing.

Warning: This work is rated [R] for mature language and situations! The subject matter may be offensive and/or disturbing to some and is definitely *not* recommended for younger readers! [Parental discretion is advised!]

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

Copyright July 2000

****

A Better Rest By Syl Francis

"Are you sure about this?"

I nodded impatiently. "I already told you," I said. "I know what I'm doing."

"Well, I don't like it."

I looked up, to find Bruce staring intently at me with those brooding eyes of his. I quickly glanced away. To be perfectly truthful, I *didn't* know what I was doing. But I'd be damned if I'd admit it to him.

"Look, Bruce. Scott was my friend," I said. "It was *my* idea that he make the move here to Gotham in the first place. I owe him this much."

"I know how you feel, son," Bruce said. "Scott was a good man. Wayne Enterprises lost a valuable employee."

I swallowed. "He was happy here, Bruce. He told me. Loved his job at W.E." I stopped, remembering our first meeting in the dumpy dive where Scott had worked as a waiter. "He told me that he'd found someone. Someone special."

I finally looked up and held Bruce's eyes. The pain of Scott's untimely passing washed over me again.

"I just don't understand, Bruce. Why would anyone hurt him?" I shook my head feeling the loss of my friend. Bruce put his hand comfortingly on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Because there are those who hate just for the pleasure of hating," he said. "They don't need any reason or logic--they just hate. And Scott--"

"--and Scott was openly gay, making him a target," I finished. Bruce nodded. I straightened my shoulders. "Well, it stops now." I held Bruce's eyes with grim determination. "Whoever did this to him. I'm bringing them down!"

"You said that Scott met someone," Bruce mused. "Do you think that maybe he could be involved somehow?"

"That's what I'm going to find out, Bruce. Scott said his friend's name was Jeff. No last name. I've got Babs running a check for me. It's a long shot, but-

"--But it's the best you've got," Bruce finished.

"Exactly."

"In that case, let's go," he said.

"What? What do you mean by 'let's'?" I asked. "There's no 'let's'--just me! I'm going in. You're staying out of it. Got it? Scott was *my* friend! I'm responsible for bringing in his killer."

"And you forget that Scott Douglas was a valuable member of Wayne Enterprises," Bruce retorted. We stood and glared at each other for a couple of minutes. A few passersby gave us a wide berth, probably afraid that we were going to come to blows.

Feeling ridiculous, I finally broke contact. Of course, Bruce wanted to help. We'd both liked Scott. He'd been a good man. His senseless murder made it personal.

"Okay, Bruce. But, are you sure you *want* to go in there looking like that?" Bruce looked at me puzzled and then down at his clothes. He was wearing the usual GQ power suit that placed him in Gotham's best-dressed lists year in and out.

"What's wrong with the way I look?" he asked. I sighed. Sometimes Bruce could be so clueless.

"Nothing, Bruce. You look great. Terrific. Some might even say you exude killer good looks." I almost laughed at his sudden blush. "But you also look like--duh-  
-Bruce Wayne!" I waved at the city in general. "And this *is* Gotham City. You think your staid Board of Directors would be able to live through the shock of seeing your face splashed across the tabloids as being spotted in the 'Blue Oyster,' a *gay bar*?"

Bruce grimaced slightly. "I could say something about it being none of their business. And that this *is* a free country," he growled. "But, I suppose that reality *does* bite. You're right, of course. Wayne Enterprises doesn't need that kind of publicity."

Satisfied that he wouldn't do anything rash, I nodded in agreement. "Good! So, let me go in and case out the place. I'll stay in contact."

He nodded and then handed me a pair of glasses. I took them, looking them over curiously. They were clear-lensed and quite stylish. My expression must have registered my puzzlement.

Without speaking, Bruce took them back and demonstrated their special qualities. I grinned.

"Way cool," I said. Sometimes having the head of WayneTech as your dad had its distinct advantages. The fact that he was also Batman didn't hurt too much, either.

"I'll change clothes," he said. "Be careful."

****

I walked around the dark, smoky room, holding a drink and cigarette in one hand. I saw an actor do it once in a movie and thought it gave the impression of ultra cool. Even if totally stupid.

The music was eardrum blasting--so loud, I couldn't understand the words. It was more of a background pounding on my head and chest. Thump-thump-thump.

I hitched up against the bar after a few minutes, my eyes traveling the length and breadth of the room continuously. My location gave me a clear view of the place, plus there were no exits (or entrances) behind me.

"New here?" A masculine voice to my right spoke. I kept my relentless sweep of the crowded room, every now and then, focusing on a particular same-sex couple undulating in time to the music on the dance floor.

Not exactly my cup of tea. I tended to go more for a certain pair of green eyes set off by flaming red hair. And very opposite in sex. But still. Live and let live. I thought of Scott. Someone here obviously didn't practice this philosophy.

I felt a light pressure on my arm.

"I said, are you new here?"

I looked up and met a pair of smiling gray eyes. Oh-oh. I'd prepared myself for this possibility, but nevertheless, it still came as a shock. Swallowing a little nervously, I nodded.

What the hell. Everyone's probably nervous the first time, I thought. He gave me a wider, relieved smile. I automatically filed away his stats: white male, mid-  
20's to 30's, hair brown, eyes gray, approximately six feet, 190-200 pounds.

"Me, too," he said, holding out his hand. "Hi, my name's Tom. Just moved into town and wanted to check out the local talent."

My expression must have registered my surprise, because he looked away momentarily.

"I was in a relationship for almost seven years, when he up and decided that he was in love with this really young thing. Felt like I'd been kicked in the teeth. So I moved out." He grinned sheepishly. "Clear across the country."

I matched his grin.

"I'm a photographer by profession," he explained. "I owned my own studio in L.A. prior to making my move." He gave me a critical once-over. "You know, you really have 'the look.' I bet that I could maybe get some people interested in you if you let me photograph you."

Oh, brother, I thought. The first time I get picked up in a gay bar, and it's by some sleazoid porn-guy. I had an overwhelming desire to punch his lights out, but decided to play it cool.

I gave him my best boyish grin--the one that used to get me an extra helping of ice cream back home when I was growing up. And that used to get me just a little farther with Kory. Heh.

"I don't know, Tom," I hedged. "I mean, I don't even know you. And, well, I'm in a relationship right now. A real jealous type."

Tom smiled a bit regretfully, but pulled out his card. "Well, look, uh--" he paused. "I'm sorry, you didn't give me your name."

"Johnny," I said, feeling a little guilty for using my father's name in vain.

"Well, Johnny," Tom said writing something on the back of his card. "Should you change your mind, call this number during regular business hours, and I'll see if I can hook you up with one of the agents I know."

I reached for the card and looked it over. Automatically, I held it by the edges, to avoid leaving any fingerprints. "Thanks, Tom. I really appreciate it." I was about to put it away, when I brought it in closer. The legend read, 'Tom and Jeff Lynch, Sunrise Studios, 5537 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, CA.

"Jeff?" I asked, pointing at the card.

"My brother," Tom explained. "We were partners."

"Were?" I asked casually, taking a sip from my drink. I made a show of putting out my cigarette.

Tom shrugged. "When I left L.A. I sort of left him high and dry, too. But he understood that I had to get away. I've just opened a small studio here in the heart of Gotham. Once things get a little steadier, I told him I'd give him a call and bring him in with me."

I nodded. It sounded plausible. Yet, the coincidence in names was too much. Scott told me that he'd met someone named 'Jeff,' and they were going out that Saturday night. He hadn't given me any specifics, but I could tell that he'd been excited about starting a new relationship. His first since he'd arrived in Gotham almost three years ago.

I tried not to think about what had been done to him. The body I'd seen in the morgue wasn't Scott. At least, not the Scott I remembered. Always smiling, excited about the smallest things. Excited that he'd met someone. Someone special.

And now, he was gone.

Smiling at Tom, I held my glass up in a silent salute, and put the card away. Tom moved on to another prospect. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was talking to a nice looking kid of no more than 18 or 19. Automatically, I filed the boy's stats in the back of my mind: white male, blond, 5' 10", 160-165 lbs.

I couldn't make his eye color from where I stood so I reached up to the glasses that Bruce had given me and pressed a spot on the frames. Tom and his blond companion instantly zoomed in. I touched the frames again. Blondie's eyes were suddenly directly in front of me--green.

Scott had been blond and green-eyed. The coincidences were just beginning to pile up.

****

"Yeah, run a check on Tom and Jeff Lynch, late of Los Angeles," I said speaking softly into the comlink hidden in my jacket collar. "Could be nothing. Could be everything."

"Will do, Boy Wonder," Babs' cheery voice replied. I took a sip of my mineral water, smiling secretly, picturing her lovely features in my mind's eye. "Oh, and Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Just remember those cute buns of yours are all mine," she said, laughing wickedly. Caught completely off guard, I choked on my drink, and started coughing violently. Immediately, three guys appeared out of nowhere and started slapping me helpfully on the back.

"Hey, there buddy," one bruiser said, looking me over appreciatively. "You're new round here, aren't you?"

Unable to talk, I nodded my affirmative. Finally, with the coughing fit passed, I thanked my benefactors, hoping they'd take the hint and go away. Turning to the bartender I was about to order another drink, when Big Bruiser beat me to it.

"Hey, Billy! Another round for my little friend here!" he called. I felt just a little afraid. To make matters worse, I could hear Babs laughing in my ear. He turned to me, showing off his best tattoo on his massive upper arm--'USMC.'

"So, tell me," he said, moving in close. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"He's with me."

I closed my eyes in relief. Never had that deep, familiar growl, which had most of Gotham's lowlifes frightened out of their collective wits, sounded so endearing. I looked up and had to look away again, biting back a grin.

Hair slicked back and dark glasses giving him an inscrutable expression, Bruce reeked of mega masculinity. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a black, skintight tee shirt, and an old pair of worn jeans. I wondered how many times he'd managed to retrieve them from the rubbish bin after one of Alfred's 'search and destroy' cleaning missions.

As it was almost impossible to see inside the nightclub already, I guessed that the dark glasses were WayneTech's equivalent of night vision goggles for the GQ jetset.

I had to admit, Bruce always had a way of making an entrance. Usually all of the unattached women in a room--and some not so unattached--made a beeline towards him. Here, he was definitely the center of attention of most of the eyes in the room. Yep, dear old Dad had it, and he sure knew how to flaunt it.

Big Bruiser looked him up and down and laid a possessive arm around my shoulder. I looked at the beefy hand hanging over me. Another tattoo--'Death from Above' overlaid on a skull and crossbones with wings.

Lovely.

"Pretty boy's with me," Bruiser growled. "Go find your own toy to play with."

That did it. I reached up and clamped my hand around Big Bruiser's wrist, and deliberately removed his arm. At his protest, I quickly locked his arm behind his back, applying just a teeny bit of unnecessary pressure. He grunted in pain.

"My 'friend' already told you. I'm with *him*! Now, be a good boy and go find *yourself* another 'toy to play with.'"

"Hey, man, I didn't mean nothing!" Big Bruiser managed. I released him suddenly, feeling just a little ashamed of myself. What had I said about 'Live and let live'?

"I know, buddy. Look, thanks for the drink. But my friend and I, well, we're together. Okay?"

"Sure, man," he said, holding onto his arm and scooting away, backwards. "No hard feelings." He disappeared into the crowd.

I looked up at Bruce and shook my head. "Thanks," I said, and then looking him over I added, grinning. "You know that you probably have half the guys in this place trying to figure out how to get you into bed."

He gave me his best scowl and then got straight to business. "Barbara said you might have something."

I nodded and pointed at Tom with my chin. He and Blondie were now seated together looking quite intimate from where we stood. At this point, Tom leaned over and said something into Blondie's ear. The kid's face lit up with excitement and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Probably giving him the 'Let me take your picture' line that he tried with me," I said.

"If he is our suspect," Bruce said, "maybe you should take him up on the offer."

I nodded, embarrassed. "I know. It's just so..."

"Sleazy," he finished for me.

"Yeah." I kept my eyes on Tom and Blondie. "I can't believe that Scott would fall for any kind of sleazoid con like that."

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Bruce said. Looking up at him, I straightened my shoulders and started making my way towards Tom.

****

"Excuse me," I said, clearing my throat with just the right touch of embarrassment. Of course, the fact that Tom and Blondie were in a full lip-lock right there in front me, added realism to my 'act.' The two men broke contact and looked up at me.

Blondie looked a bit putout by the interruption. He looked even younger close up. I wondered if he was old enough to be there. I nodded politely at him and turned to Tom.

"Hey, Tom, look I thought about what you said, and I figured, well, why not? It sounds like it could be fun."

Tom grinned up at me and held out his hand. "That's great, Johnny. Why don't you call my studio tomorrow, and my secretary will make an appointment for a photo layout."

"Great! I'm looking forward to it," I said. Nodding at Blondie, I moved through the mass of the tightly packed bodies and made my way outside. Bruce was already waiting for me. He started walking without saying anything, quickly leading the way to an alley.

Within minutes, we were on the rooftops, changing into our costumes. The night was still young.

****

"There is no record of a Sunrise Studio on Sunset Boulevard in L.A.," Babs reported. "There is also no record of a Tom or Jeff Lynch as licensed photographers in the state of California."

"So, the guy's a phony through and through," I said. I looked up at Batman. He was scanning the entrance to the Blue Oyster. "What do you think, Bruce? Think he's our man?"

"Sounds plausible," he said. "Oracle, have you run a check on Tom and Jeff Lynch? Are the names real? Phony? Is it one man or two?"

"I did and got a few hundred thousand hits, I'm afraid," she reported. "The names are just too common. So, I'm running a cross check of the two first names in combination, see if I can get something." She paused. "Thank goodness you didn't give me 'Tom and Jerry'--I doubt if I'd be able to run anything down on that combi--" She stopped.

"Whoops--! Got something!" she said. At this moment, Tom and Blondie walked out of the nightclub, arm-in-arm. Tom gave a check stub to one of the valet parking attendants, and they both waited under the club's neon lights.

Tom turned to Blondie and kissed him passionately in the open. I looked away, embarrassed. I wasn't na ve about gay and Lesbian lifestyles. I'd witnessed too many things growing up as Batman's partner, Robin. But to be fair to Bruce, he'd worked extremely hard to protect from some of life's seamier side.

Nevertheless, Wayne Enterprises was at the forefront of equal hiring opportunities for women, minorities, and gays. Bruce didn't care what the color of your skin was or your sexual preferences as long as you were willing to work hard for him. And I guess his egalitarian philosophy sort of soaked its way through my own skin.

Still, as Bruce said earlier, reality *does* bite.

"What do you have, Oracle?" Batman asked.

"Thomas and Jeffrey Leigh, AKA Thomas and Jeffrey Lyons, AKA Thomas and Jeffrey Lynch. Twin brothers out of upstate New York. Settled in Metropolis for a short while, couple of arrests for bunco and smalltime robbery. Paroled from Strykers' Island after serving eighteen months." She paused.

"They made their way to Jersey, where--surprise! They were arrested again for-  
you guessed it. Bunco! They were running a con game similar to the one in Metropolis, enticing young men with promises of being set up with a major modeling agency. The victims invariably paid out big bucks and--" She paused, embarrassed. "--other 'services.'"

(Translation: sex, I added mentally.)

"But they never saw a return for their money. Just an empty storefront after a few weeks."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Not sure, Boy Wonder," she said. "The brothers seem to have shown up in Greenwich Village in New York. Same scam, but this time..." she paused.

"What?" I asked impatiently. Tom's car had just pulled up to the curb. He and Blondie were climbing in.

"Things got ugly. One brother was found dead, shot several times. Fingerprints made the slain twin as Jeffrey Thomas Leigh. The other brother, Thomas Jeffrey Leigh disappeared.

"Babs, was there a suspect in the case?" I asked.

"Hold on a sec." The car was pulling away. I zoomed in on the license plate. Local--GC-8657. Batman tapped me on the shoulder. Time to go.

"Got it, Boy Wonder," Babs said, as I flew down to where the Batmobile waited. I grinned. Nice to have a car that could drive itself when you needed it.

"The suspect was a twenty-year-old white male, named Ryan Connolly. He was released due to insufficient evidence."

I could hear her humming softly under her breath as she read the information before her. The humming stopped suddenly.

"Dick," Babs' voice sounded serious. "There's something else. Connolly was found dead a couple of days after Jeff Leigh's murder, his body dumped in a vacant lot." There was a long pause. "Dick, Connolly was blonde and green-eyed, approximately five-ten and weighing between one-sixty/one-seventy." Her voice dropped to a dry whisper.

"He was tortured, Dick. Just like Scott."

At Babs' report Batman suddenly punched the turbos on the Batmobile. Ryan Connolly was a ringer for Scott and Blondie. We had to catch up to Tom and his unsuspecting victim before it was too late.

****

"I can't believe we *lost* them!" I cried, slamming my fist on the dashboard. "How could we *lose* them?" I heard the accusatory tone in my voice as I yelled at Batman. We'd called in the license plates to the GCPD, and they'd put out and all-points bulletin on the car.

"We'll find them," he growled. His hand pressed several keys on his onboard computer. Instantly, a faster-than-the-eye-could-follow string of photos zoomed across the screen. Finally, a single photo stabilized on the monitor--Tom!

I looked at Batman with open admiration. I knew him too well to be surprised by anything he did anymore. But, every now and then he still managed to do something I hadn't seen before.

An instant later, an address flashed at the bottom. A luxury apartment complex near the Gotham Heights area. It was our only lead. But what if--?

"Bruce?" I hated to ask, but had to. "What if they go to Blondie's apartment instead?"

Batman swallowed before answering. "Then, he's out of luck."

This time, he *did* surprise me. I stared at him open-mouthed, and then nodded glumly.

****

I felt like a voyeur and little sick to my stomach. I couldn't watch. Maybe I *had* seen it all growing up, but not this. Not two men having sex. I put my glasses down and collapsed on the rooftop, leaning my head against the building ledge.

I looked up at Batman. His grim expression gave nothing away, but I knew he wasn't too thrilled about keeping watch either. He might be the Dark Knight, but Bruce was really a pretty decent guy deep down. Being out on a stakeout was one thing. Spying on people during such an intimate act was something else.

He, too, lowered his glasses and looking down joined me.

"Not exactly the usual father/son outing, is it?" he asked. I shook my head. We didn't say anything for a long while. Finally, Bruce spoke.

"I'm sorry about Scott, son. I know he was your friend, and I'm sorry that he got involved with the wrong guy." He sighed.

"He was a decent young man, Dick. I want you to remember that. Whatever this guy, Tom is--he's not the same as Scott. He's a user. And possibly a killer. He entices young men who are lonely and at their most vulnerable. It's a shame that people like Scott--young, bright, decent--looking for what we are all looking for. Love, companionship. Are so easily targeted by sleaze balls like Tom and his brother Jeff."

I watched Bruce as he spoke, his jawline hard as granite. He was keeping his gaze steadily at a spot somewhere above us.

"I remember Scott telling me," I said, "that just once he'd like to meet someone and not feel later like he was being stared at. He was such a nice guy, Bruce. But his life must've been hell at times. I just hate to think that Scott's last moments were spent with someone like *him*!" I said, meaning Tom. "He deserved better, Bruce."

Batman nodded. "Yes, he did." He faced me. "Are you up to this, son? I can go in alone. There's no need for the both of us--"

I stopped him. "I have to, Bruce. Like I said. I owe Scott at least this much." He held my gaze for a long moment. I could tell that he wasn't happy about it. Like always, he wanted to protect me. Finally, he nodded.

"Let's go, partner," he said.

****

I waited outside the French doors on the balcony leading to the bedroom. Batman was standing by outside the living room. There had been no movement or sound for almost a half hour. I was beginning to feel that we were on a wild goose chase, when I detected movement inside.

I touched my mask, activating the Starlite scopes. I zoomed in on the figure that was sitting up slowly from the bed--Tom! I immediately contacted Batman.

"Target's moving," I muttered. He acknowledged. I waited for Tom to leave the bedroom. As soon as he was clear, I entered. Blondie was sound asleep. I listened at the door for any sounds from the opposite side. Quiet.

Slowly opening the door, I adjusted the audio pickup on my comlink. Instantly, I heard something that sounded like a squeak coming from a room down the hall. I saw movement to my left and quickly fell into a defensive stance. Batman!

My heart pounding, I glared at him. He gave me a half-grin in response. I hand signaled that our target was in the far room. We moved there noiselessly, each on one either side of the door. Batman placed his hand on the doorknob, and keeping his eyes on me, he counted off with his other hand. One...two...three!

He pulled the door open and we both moved in. Nothing. The room was empty. It was furnished as a home office/study. Desk, computer, filing cabinets, bookshelves. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Batman was holding one of his toys in hand, running a systematic check of the room. As he pointed it towards the massive bookshelves, it began to glow a bright green. I rolled my eyes upward. A secret room behind the bookshelves? How clich .

I supposed that if we stood with our backs to them, the shelves would then rotate and we'd be at the top of a staircase leading to a dungeon. But we were on the 15th floor of the apartment building, so a dungeon was definitely out of the question.

The bookshelves started to open. Batman and I quickly dived under cover. Tom emerged from an open doorway. He was wearing a lab coat and holding a syringe in one hand. Batman pointed at me and then at Tom. He's yours, in other words. He then pointed at himself and the secret room.

I nodded. We both waited for Tom to exit the room. As soon as he was gone, Batman went into the secret room to investigate. I followed after Tom. I was just able to see the back of his lab coat as he entered the bedroom. I ran and stood just outside the opened bedroom door.

Batman and I had agreed that we wouldn't do anything until we were certain that Blondie's life was in danger. It looked like Blondie's life was now in danger. I peered inside.

Tom sat down on Blondie's side of the bed. Holding the syringe up to the light, he adjusted the contents and then turned to his sleeping guest. Not daring to wait another moment, I whipped out my escrima sticks and threw!

"*Hey*!" Tom screamed, holding his wrist where one of the sticks had hit. "What the--!"

Blondie was sitting up by then, frightened. "Tom--! What's going on?" he cried. Spotting me, he let out a terrified yell. "Who *are* you? Tom--?" But Tom was offering Blondie no comfort. Instead, he'd recovered sufficiently to be holding a gun against his young victim's head.

"Any closer and he's dead!" Tom warned. Blondie let out another frightened cry. Holding the kid close to him, Tom pulled him out of bed, the gun never leaving his temple.

"I can't let you take that boy anywhere, Tom," I said quietly. "Let him go."

Tom laughed, an ugly, threatening sound.

"Sorry, but Ronnie, here is already mine. He's already given himself to me." He grinned. "And neither you, nor Jeff, can have him. He's mine! Do you hear me? Jeff's not going to get him, too."

"Wh-who's Jeff?" Ronnie asked, confused.

"Jeff's dead, Tom," I said. "You killed him, remember? You were identical twins. So when he pretended he was you and seduced your lover, you got mad, and you killed him."

"He deserved it. He was always taking my stuff. Ever since we were kids. If I got something, he had to have it, too." He laughed suddenly. "We used to fool our teachers all the time. Even our parents had a hard time telling us apart. But Ryan was special. He was mine. And Jeff *took* him!"

He waved the gun slightly, indicating that he wanted me to move aside. Keeping my eyes on him, I did as requested. Tom walked out of the room, holding Ronnie closely, and backed away down the narrow hallway.

"Jeff laughed at me. Said that he could take anything that belonged to me. I *hated* him for it. Ryan was *mine*! He said he loved *me*! He should've *known* it wasn't me that night. How could he have *slept* with him? He was supposed to *love me*!"

I had to keep him talking. Just a few more steps.

"It wasn't Ryan's fault, Tom. You said it yourself. Even your parents had trouble telling you and Jeff apart. And it isn't Ronnie's fault, either," I added. "Please, let him go. You don't want to hurt him."

At that moment, Batman chopped down hard and Tom went down like he'd been shot. I tossed a blanket at Ronnie. He took it gratefully, quickly wrapping it around himself.

I walked up to Tom, who was sitting up dazedly, holding his head. "Just like it wasn't *Scott's* fault," I said, looking down at him. Batman bent down and placed a pair of cuffs on him. Straightening, he looked at me steadily.

"You okay?" he asked. I nodded mutely.

****

I stood looking up at the starry skies. The night sky from Wayne Manor never ceased to enthrall me. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Bruce stood close to me, not saying anything. We stood together a moment longer, simply enjoying one another's presence.

"Will you be all right?" he finally asked. I sighed, taking moment to answer.

"I don't know," I admitted. "The thought that Scott's last moments were so horrifying. In the hands of that monster. I just don't know what to think, Bruce. That torture chamber you found--like something out of a nightmare."

I remembered the nauseated, haunted feeling that came over me when I walked into the hidden room and looked upon what must have been the last thing that Scott had laid his eyes on. I experienced the horror that he must have felt while being held prisoner--so alone, bound and drugged to minimize his screams, but not so much that he wouldn't know what was being done to him, knowing that he was going to die.

I closed my eyes, shuddering at the memory.

"You helped stop Scott's killer from doing it to anyone else," Bruce said. "I know that's little comfort, but it's something. You have to believe that Scott's death wasn't meaningless. That because of him, we stopped a serial killer before he had a chance to really get started. In a way, Scott sacrificed his life so that others might live."

Finally, I nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said, my words choking with emotion. "I'd like to think that Scott's found some kind of peace now. I just wish that I'd been there for him. That I'd somehow been able to save him, too."

"Dick, you mustn't blame yourself for what happened to Scott. It wasn't your fault," Bruce said. "Remember that. You were his friend. It's not your fault you couldn't offer him more than that, and he had to look elsewhere for companionship."

I looked up at him startled. How did he know, I wondered? Then mentally slapped myself. Duh! He's Batman! But I still had to ask.

"You knew?"

Bruce turned to face me. Abruptly, he began to fuss with my collar the way he used to when I was a kid, and he had something of momentous import to tell me, but didn't know how to begin. After awhile, he laid both his hands on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes.

"I'm your father, Dick. Of course, I knew. Scott was in love with you." I looked away feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over me. Bruce shook my shoulders slightly.

"You were his friend. Remember that. Scott knew that you couldn't offer him more than friendship. He understood and accepted it. Now, it's time for you to let go of the guilt." His intent gaze held me pinned. "Son, let it go."

I nodded. The next thing I knew, Bruce was holding me to him. Something he hadn't done since I was a kid. And I was clinging to him for dear life, my whole body wracked by harsh sobs. He held me like that for what seemed forever.

Finally, the storm passed, washing the guilt away, leaving me feeling emotionally spent but cleansed. I broke away from Bruce's protective embrace, keeping my eyes carefully focused on the North Star.

"'It is a far, far better thing I do,'" I said quietly, quoting from memory, "'than anything I have ever done; it is a far, far, better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.'"

Without another word, Bruce laid his arm around my shoulders once more, and together we both looked up at the starry night sky. Yes, I thought, somewhere Scott was finally at peace.

The End #### 


End file.
